The National Epidemic No One Wants to Talk About

I remember one summer when my children and I were in the mountains of Montana. Our cabin was among eight or ten structures that had been built to mine nickel during WWII. A river ran through the narrow valley. The water was clean, frigid, and fishing was good. Grandpa T had chosen this morning to take the kids fishing, but first, one must have worms. And the best worms were found in and around manure. My kids stepped back, horrified expressions on their faces. He insisted they get their hands dirty. The brook trout were delicious.

This down-to-earth mountain man was right. We are going to have to get our hands dirty. We must turn over the rock of child abuse. We will have to face ugly.

Why? Because our children are worth it.

We Americans pride ourselves on our freedom of speech. We agree to disagree. We applaud transparency. Fair is fair.

Rosa Parks wasn’t all that long ago. The right for women to vote, not long before that. We’ve tackled polio, mitigated aids, ordained women, legalized gay marriage, and espoused racial equality.

So how is it that we have put our collective heads in the sand regarding child abuse?

I need to ask some questions, and they may make you uncomfortable. But, please, let’s dialogue. When will we liberate children? When will the needs/rights of a child supersede the sanctity of family? When will we as a society give voice to our children? We have a national epidemic in this country – in many countries, actually. You’ll find Canada, Australia, and England with statistics that mirror our own. 1 in 3 girls will be molested by the time they are 18. 1 in 5 boys. 85% of the molesters are either known or loved by these children.

The Center for Disease Control has called adverse childhood experience a national epidemic (ACEs). You’d think we would get to work on a cure, wouldn’t you? For future generations, the vaccine will be prevention.

Educate children to empower them about their bodies.

Educate parents how to protect, empower their kids, and keep communication open.

Create standards of practice for clergy/leadership when abuse is reported.

Educate the public toward a collective caring heart about child abuse.

Educate families of a child who has been abused in support of both child and family.

With the vaccine in its infancy, I am a torchbearer to the issue. Willing to bring – with dignity, vulnerability, even humor – the underbelly of this societal beast, child sexual abuse, to our collective attention. Across the board, with the exception of organizations whose missions mirror my own (thank God for them!), people don’t want to talk about it.

We have a problem. Let’s own it, sort out why we won’t discuss it, and take action to rectify it.

Owning it can be difficult. It’s hard for healthy adults to imagine molesting a child. Sex happens – inside and outside marriage. But sex with a child is abhorrent. It makes good people nauseous, and it should.

Those who have been abused are not a subculture in our society. They are innocents whose trust was betrayed, whose hearts are pecked by shame, and whose future rests with us. WE are the ones who must not be ashamed to stand by a child.

We, by standing with and for a child, remove the stigma that victimization holds. We loose the bonds of taboo when we are willing to talk about child abuse and our role in it. Because, you see, you and I have a role in it. We can “hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil” and be accomplices in the abuser’s game. Or, we can educate our own children for their safety’s sake (see “Do’s and Don’ts for Busy Parents”). We can involve ourselves with families who are struggling through the emotional upheaval such news brings.

A principle of human communication is that it is impossible NOT to communicate. We communicate, whether or not we say or do anything. To do nothing communicates disinterest, apathy, discomfort, fear, or simply a lack of concern as in “I don’t care.” To do something, to say something has healing power; for the child, the child’s family, the community in which we live. To take action, beginning now, is to staunch the spread of the epidemic and move toward stabilizing our vaccine. Help be a part of the cure. Will you?

An avalanche sounds like a rifle shot. I glanced over my left shoulder when that crack reverberated down the mountain to see a plume of snow lift off the peak, fluff like cotton candy, and hold its pose for a split second before plummeting down the funnel of the ravine. It fell like a bridal veil, thousands of feet. I wish I’d have had the presence of mind to film it, but I tossed our camera into John’s lap as I leaped behind the wheel. “It’s an avalanche,” I said intensely and stepped a bit too firmly on the gas. My wheels spun. I tried again. “It’s above us coming down hard.” I wanted distance between that chasm and us. John looked back. “It’s beautiful! Like a waterfall.” Mm-hmmm and I wanted out of there.

I suppose a local would have known these were ideal conditions…heavy snowfall, a sharp rise in temperature, a sunny day. Perfect. It didn’t occur to us. We love Kananaskis back country. A sign welcomes you, and a hundred feet ahead, another warns you. You’re in avalanche country. Signs along the 60-kilometer Spray Lakes road will periodically tell you not to stop – you’re in the ideal location to get trounced by said wall of snow. I didn’t notice the first ‘Avalanche zone, do not stop’ sign, as I was spellbound by ice floes in the first lake to the left. And, I stopped to capture that breathtaking view. The avalanche plumed again as it came to a rest shy of the road, but it took thirty minutes for my heart rate to return to normal.

Upon our return, we stopped as the sun grazed the tip of Goat Mountain – not in an avalanche zone. I got out onto the snow-covered road for a better angle. Cat tracks – cougar as it turns out – the size of my fist were the only impressions in the snow and crossed the road into the trees a few feet ahead. I wish I’d taken pictures of the imprints, but my risk metric was riding high as in ‘let’s not tempt fate here.’ I listened.

We’re back in Canmore, drinking a cup of Sumatran coffee and enjoying Cranberry Nut Pound Cake. Who knows what the rest of the day will bring! ...